


Memories That Smell Like Pumpkins

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bonding, Canon Compliant, Childhood, Contest Entry, Family, Halloween, Inspired by Art, POV Third Person, Racism, Some Humor, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Before they were Huntresses, the members of Team RWBY were trick-or-treaters.A short Halloween story for each girl of RWBY, from the perspectives of those closest to them. Entry for the October 2016 MonCon.





	1. Yang (Age 7)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the [October 2016 MonCon](https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/5678rk/official_rrwby_moncon_october_2016/) on reddit. If you enjoy the story, please consider voting for it when the poll opens in a few days. The prompt for the month was: _Any member(s) of Team RWBY + Halloween_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taiyang struggles during his first Halloween without Summer. Qrow's there, for better or worse.

_Yang Xiao Long - Age 7_

In one of those mysterious ways that the world worked, Taiyang was watching a kettle, waiting for it to boil, when he heard Qrow begging for his life.

“ _No, wait, I surrender!”_ Qrow cried out, his voice distinct even when laced with fear. There was a loud _thud_ , the sound of a body collapsing at the foot of the landing. “We can talk this out!”

Tai rounded the corner from the kitchen, still clutching a faded dish towel. He blinked at the sight of Qrow Branwen prone on his back, hands raised in surrender. “Please! Just tell me what do you want!” The Huntsman unconsciously reached for the small of his back, but _of course_ he had left his scythe at home, tonight of all nights. “Money? Information? _Power_?”

His assailant towered over him, the tip of her sword poking into his neck, an inch below the carotid. She paused, staring into his eyes for one long, triumphant moment. “ _Your head_.”

“Wait, please, I have _gaaaargraaahhhhhhhh_ -” Qrow clutched at his neck where the sword’s tip had jutted in, choking and sputtering for several slow, agonizing seconds. Then his arms became leaden, his body went limp, his eyes rolled back…

“Qrow what the fuuuu- _fudge_ is going on?” demanded Tai, glaring at the body on the floor beneath him.

“I slayed Uncle Qrow!” declared Yang, waving her plastic sword over her head with glee. “Now he can’t threaten our Kingdom any longer.”

Taiyang let out a weary sigh. “If only we were so lucky, kid,” he muttered, before collapsing in an overstuffed recliner. It doubled as his bed more nights than not nowadays. Yang couldn’t quite discern the meaning of her Dad’s words, but she recognized his tone readily enough. Her smiled wavered slightly.

“Hey, good job, firecracker,” Qrow said, pushing himself up from the floor. He rubbed the spot on his neck where Yang had jabbed her plastic sword just a _little_ too enthusiastically. “You’re becoming quite the Huntress.” Yang’s smile exploded again at the compliment, and Qrow ran a hand through her unruly mane of hair. He was still getting used to the absence of pigtails. When it was free like that, the resemblances were…

“Hey, isn’t it almost time to head out?” Qrow asked, interrupting his own train-of-thought. “Go use the washroom and grab your coat.”

“Don’t need a coat,” Yang declared, folding her arms defiantly across her chest. She avoided poking herself in the eye with her own sword, but only barely.

“Yeah, ya do,” countered Qrow, pulling himself to his feet. “You want to get a fever like Ruby?”

“But I’m _always_ warm,” Yang pouted, stomping her foot for emphasis. Qrow had to admit that. No matter how long she played in the snow Yang’s skin never chapped nor blued, for some reason. Of course, he didn’t have to admit that _out loud_. Certainly not with _Tai_ in the room.

“Don’t care,” Qrow answered, knowing better than to try to convince a child with logic and reason. “Get your coat and _then_ we can go.”

Yang made the rudimentary calculation - that more arguing now would only lead to less candy later - so she scurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Leaving Qrow alone in the room with Taiyang.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Tai, as soon as his eldest was out of earshot. He was back on his feet, as much as he looked ready to sleep for a year in that recliner.

Qrow shrugged, unapologetically. “What, I can’t stop by to visit my two favorite people in the world?” Taiyang continued glaring at him, eliciting a second shrug. “Heard you needed a hand on Halloween, s’all.”

“Uh-huh,” Tai replied. “And how _exactly_ did you come across that morsel of information?”

For the first time something vaguely resembling guilt crossed Qrow’s face. Taiyang quickly reached the natural conclusion. “ _Of course_ Ozpin has you all keeping tabs on me,” muttered Tai, his voice low and bitter. “Wants to make sure he hasn’t lost any of his precious pawns.”

“Come on, Tai, we all know Oz’s methods are a little… _unorthodox_ , but he’s trying to do the right thing.”

Curling fingers into a fist was a poor substitute for punching Qrow’s stupid face in, but with Ruby fast asleep in the next room over it would have to make do. “You know for such a jaded misanthrope you’re willing to make an _awful_ lot of excuses for him.”

Qrow said nothing, just stared down at the floor, back hunched, hands in his pockets. In that moment, in the absence of anger or confrontation, the fight left Taiyang. His head drooped, and he lowered himself to the edge of the couch. “It was Oobleck, wasn’t it? I asked him to stop by this morning to check on Ruby, and then he filed his report with Ozpin. Right?”

Qrow toed at the edge of the carpet. He hated that carpet. Summer Rose had been many things, but _interior decorator_ was not one of them. And there was a snowball’s chance in hell of getting rid of it _now_. “I know Barty’s excited about getting his PhD, Tai, but you do know he’s not _that_ kind of doc?”

Taiyang snorted a little, despite himself. Then he sighed. He was just too tired to be angry about this kind of shit anymore. “How’d you get in, anyways?”

Qrow inclined his head slightly. “Let’s just say your chimney could use a little sweeping.”

Tai almost growled. “Because - and call me crazy - I guess _knocking like a normal human being_ would have been _such_ an inconvenience for you?”

The padder of Yang’s feet on the staircase aborted any further bickering between the two grown-ups.

“Ready!” Yang triumphantly declared, dragging but not wearing a dark green jacket she was already outgrowing. Qrow and Tai let out defeated sighs in stereo.

“Alright, kiddo, so what's this Patch Island Halloween Circuit I’ve heard so much about?” asked Qrow, making his way towards the front door.

Yang remained rooted in place, though, her eyes still on her father. “Can… can you come, Dad?” Taiyang had remained planted on the couch, and Yang wasn’t old enough to know how to mask her disappointment. “And Uncle Qrow can watch Ruby?”

It wasn’t often that Tai asked Qrow for help, but when he glanced at his former teammate he was clearly looking for a lifeline. There was a desperation in his eyes. The anguished pain of a still-open wound...

Qrow knew it would have been easy for Taiyang to find someone to watch Ruby for a few hours. Even overlooking the fact that practically everyone on this island owned Taiyang for some favor or another, Tai had a list a mile long of people who would drop everything to lend him a hand. The problem wasn’t that Taiyang couldn’t find a babysitter. The problem was that Taiyang couldn’t spend hours walking up to every door in the neighborhood.

It had started at Summer’s memorial service, and only snowballed from there. The pitying looks. The murmured whispers. The charity and sympathy that only reminded him of what he’d lost. He just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t put on a brave face and pretend everything was going to be okay. Doing that just for his daughters, day in and day out, was almost more than he could manage. Doing it for all of Remnant…

“Your old man knows what kind of medicine Ruby needs,” Qrow supplied, neither a bald-faced lie nor the complete truth. “So you’re stuck with me tonight.”

Yang nodded at that, a little glumly, but understandingly. If she still remembered it in a few years, Qrow fully expected her to call him out on his ( _tactful_ ) bullshit. But to a kid it made sense, so Yang followed him to the door.

“Hey, Qrow!” Tai’s voice called out, just as Qrow was moving to close the door behind him. “...Thanks.”

The two locked eyes. They’d been partners at Beacon. Teammates for years. Neither was sure if the other still counted as a brother-in-law, but both assumed so. For better or for worse, they _knew_ each other.

“Don’t mention it.”

The door swung shut. Yang looked up at him, a costumed Huntress in miniature, eyes once again wide with excitement. He engulfed her hand in his. “Come on, dragon. How long’s this Halloween Circuit, anyways?”

Her jacket trailed behind her the whole night.


	2. Weiss (Age 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their father otherwise preoccupied, Winter Schnee decided to give Weiss a childhood memory she's still lacking.

“...And he’s going to be gone _all night_? … No, no… I understand… Of course… I’m well aware of the many demands on my father’s time… No… no, thank you.”

Winter snapped her Scroll shut, pausing momentarily to reflect on the conversation she’d just concluded with her father’s secretary. _Mister Schnee_ would be receiving an award for his ‘philanthropic contributions to the city’ - thinly-veiled bribery, in all honesty - leaving Winter and her sister alone. All night.

Winter was able to stop herself from giggling in excitement, but only barely.

She didn’t _literally_ skip down the vaulted hallway leading to one of the Manor’s _many_ dining rooms, but she damn well wanted to. She managed to constrain herself to a brisk stride, polished boots clicking imperiously off marbled floors. The effects of Winter’s enrollment in the Atlas Combat Academy were already apparent. Gone were the modest dresses and kitten heels of her childhood, replaced with vests and trousers and the leather boots of a cavalry officer. Even without her sword there was no missing the martial aura of Winter’s appearance, the steel in her posture and the resolve in her eye. Servants scuttled to get out of her way, dreading her wrath almost as much as her father’s. Winter walked like she owned the place.

Barring an unexpected change to her Father’s will, one day she very well _would_.

“Winter‽” Weiss asked, momentarily shocked, as her older sister threw the double doors of the dining room wide open. “Where’s father? What’s wrong?”  
  
  


Winter shook her head softly, a small smile remaining on her face despite the earnest concern in her sister’s voice. It was ten minutes past six on a weeknight, which meant it was time for them to be having dinner with their father. He might be an unrivaled titan of industry, but their father considered himself a family man first a foremost - and had the luxury of being able to force others to schedule around his dining arrangements. Shareholders, subordinates, even elected officials - regardless of the urgency or importance of the work at hand _everyone_ had to wait for him to be chauffeured the short distance home, eat a full meal with his daughters, and return to the office. 

It wasn’t like there was any warmth in their meals together, conducted with all the formality of a state dinner. It was an eerie mockery of family bonding, carried out by a man who had only a second-hand understanding of how normal families worked. But their father certainly liked the _idea_ of being a family man, so they were all compelled to go through the motions. Weiss had long wished he wouldn’t bother, but had learned the hard way why she had to keep those opinions to herself.

Winter was too excited to offer an intelligent answer to Weiss’ question. “Come on, Weiss,” was all she said, turning on her heel and exiting back the way she came. Weiss hurried to catch up with her, a silk napkin falling from her lap to the floor in her haste. Weiss didn’t have time to ask _where are we going_ or _why aren’t we having dinner_ , but then, Winter had that effect on her. Ever since their mother had passed, Winter had been the only person Weiss followed out of admiration rather than fear.

“Has there been some kind of an emergency?” Weiss asked, struggling to keep pace with her sister’s longer strides.

That earned her a small sort. “I’m sure father views anything that interrupts his precious ‘family time’ as a crisis,” Winter said, her tone on the edge of scornful. “But no, he’s simply attending a gala being thrown in his honor. He was planning to skip it, but it sounds like there were some last-minute additions to the guest list he wanted to show off to.”

“Oh.” Weiss’ voice fell a little at that. Winter shot her a quizzical expression, but she didn’t need Weiss to clarify. Weiss had been seated at the dinner table, waiting patiently for her father to arrive, and nobody had bothered to tell her he wasn’t coming.

Weiss shook her head, clearing it slightly. “Where are we going?”

Winter’s smile grew a few more centimeters. “Come now, Weiss, what day is it?”

“First shattered-moon of autumn. Why?”

“Correct. But the _more correct_ answer, dear sister, is: Halloween.”

“Of course,” replied Weiss, doing her best to match her sister’s crisp enunciation. “I fail to see how that is relevant, however.”

Winter ran a hand through Weiss’ hair, mussing it. Weiss scowled, but it was a token scowl only. “Do you remember the last time we celebrated Halloween, Weiss? With mother?”

Every time Winter asked her a question about their mother, Weiss wanted _so badly_ to say ‘yes’. Wanted to say that _yes_ , she remembered the woman who gave birth to her, nurtured her, provided the few memories that Winter seemed to reflect on with warmth in her eyes. But the simple truth was that she _couldn’t_. Every so often she _thought_ she did, but it was almost always the product of an overactive imagination, invented memories extrapolated from fading photos...

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

A faint grimace played across Winter’s face, but she smothered it quickly. “No matter. You were…” Winter glanced at Weiss without breaking stride, eyes softening slightly as memories were brought forward. “You were a _black cat_ , if I recall. Or something along those lines. _Father_ was ‘working late’, of course.” There was no mistaking Winter’s tone. “But mother and one of the butlers drove us around. I don’t think we got very much candy, mind you, but…”

Winter’s voice trailed off, the last syllables fading softly. Winter shook her head, regaining her composure. “The _point_ , Weiss, is that _you_ are going to go trick-or-treating. And _this_ time you’ll actually remember it.”

Weiss opened her mouth to protest. To whine, to complain, to regurgitate her father’s spiel about door-to-door _panhandling_ being beneath the dignity of a Schnee. She had scarcely a decade behind her but Weiss had already decided that she was above the childish preoccupations of her peers. It was her way of proving that she deserved the same respect afforded any adult. She’d already prepared a mental list of a dozen things she could do in her father’s absence, and surely any one of them would be a more productive use of her precious time?

Weiss found her eyes locked with her sister’s, and something in Winter’s gaze kept her silent. And it wasn’t a wordless threat or a menacing glare, not even an unspoken dare or challenge. None of those would have been enough to convince Weiss to go against her better judgement.

At fourteen years old, Winter was within acceptable trick-or-treating age herself, but the thought of doing so had never crossed her mind. That part of Winter’s life was behind her now, Weiss knew, had known since Winter had stopped wearing her hair down and started binding it in a stringent bun. Winter could no more go trick-or-treating than she could play in a sandbox. There was no real pain in her expression, no resentment or bitterness, just the faintest sliver of _regret_. An unshed tear for memories she wouldn’t form, experiences she would never have.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

The toothy grin Winter flashed confirmed Weiss’ hypothesis in a heartbeat. Winter wanted Weiss to have, just _once_ , a touchstone childhood experience. That would make Winter happy, and Weiss wanted her big sister to be happy. It was a transaction she was more than willing to make.

“Come on,” said Winter, taking Weiss by the hand and half-dragging her down the corridor at a most unladylike jog. “I snagged the keys to one of the convertibles. There’s this great place in town which is practically a _warehouse_ of costumes, but I saw some Huntress ones that I think you’ll really like…”

The smile remained on Winter’s face for the better part of two days. Through the race into town and the purchasing of the cheapest clothes Weiss had ever worn. Through the hours of driving around unfamiliar neighborhoods and knocking on the doors of strangers. Through Weiss (rather uncharacteristically) challenging her to a candy-eating contest, and through all the stomach aches that followed. Through the shouts and screams of her father, a man furious at the petty rebellion of his daughters.

Weiss would never again go trick-or-treating. But she’d owe Winter a debt of gratitude for the one memory of Halloween that she had, and that she treasured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just like writing Winter. She's fun.


	3. Blake Belladonna (Age 11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam accompanies Blake as she goes trick-or-treating in a human neighborhood.

Adam had felt a vague sense of smugness the first time a door had been slammed on Blake’s face. The validation of a triumphant ‘ _I told you so_ ’. It had persisted through the second door, and the third, and even the fourth. The cycle was so repetitive it might as well have been scripted. Humans were actually pretty predictable, Adam had come to understand.

Keeping to the sidewalk, he watched as Blake made her way to the next house on the block. He wasn’t sure if she was being wilfully naive or just a glutton for denial. He watched Blake’s knuckles rasp the door and then take a small step back…

_The door opens, and a mid-aged human, or sometimes a couple, looks down on one Blake Belladonna, dressed in a ninja costume Frankensteined together from scavenged bits and pieces. Blake’s smile is wide and her eyes wider, still hoping against reason that_ this _house will be different. The humans sweep their eyes over Blake, pausing at her ears for a second, before continuing to the rest of her body..._

_… and, like clockwork, a second or two passes and their eyes dart back to her ears, to the feline appendages that were, upon closer inspection,_ far _too lifelike to be part of any child’s costume. A light breeze causes one of Blake’s velvety ears to twitch slightly. Blake is still standing before them, bag open, waiting patiently for the confectionary that she still thinks is her birthright._

_The door closes on her. Sometimes it’s slammed, and sometimes there’s a half-muttered apology, but unfailingly. Blake and sometimes Adam can hear words being exchanged behind the door, the questions being asked about what a_ Faunus _was doing in this neighborhood. Half of the residents had moved here over the past years precisely to_ avoid _their kind._

_Blake trudges back to Adam, refusing to meet his eye..._

“Look, Blake, I promised your folks I’d have you back by ten,” Adam said, taking a few long strides to catch up with Blake. She was already trekking down the sidewalk to the next house on road. “And to be blunt, I’d rather be back in _our_ part of town a lot sooner than that. These streets aren’t exactly welcoming to our kind, Blake. If you’re attacked, I doubt anyone here will lift a finger to help.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Blake replied, with a maturity that belied her years. The young girl took in the suburban streets with an easy sweep of her gaze, amber eyes assessing darkened streets far better than any human’s could. They’d taken two busses to the neighborhood where, Blake had assured Adam, ‘word on the street’ was that the candy was ripe for the taking. He’d rolled his eyes at that, but she’d shanghai’d him into chaperoning her all the same. Not like he would ever say _no_ , of course. Not to her.

They were probably the only Faunus for a mile in every direction, though, and that was not something Adam took lightly. Like Blake, Adam had spent his formative years outside the protective walls of Remnant’s cities, where the authorities were less likely to harass Faunus, but official protection was even harder to come by. ‘ _Kill or be killed_ ’ had been drilled into his head practically since infancy. In a lot of ways city life was nicer, Adam had to admit, but he was under no illusions that his people were any more welcome here.

“One more house,” he stated. He half-expected Blake to put forth a counter-offer, which he would have in all likelihood conceded to, but she accepted it without haggle or bargain.

“One more house,” Blake repeated in agreement. Her smile brightened as they approached the next driveway, a three-story mansion with a faux-Mantlesque facade. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one...”

* * *

“Humans are the _worst_ ,” Blake declared, bouncing her head softly against the brick wall they were both leaned against. She rubbed at her eyes, doing her best to keep the moisture from pooling.

Adam threw his hands up. “Finally! She sees the truth!” Blake mustered a small smile at his joke, and Adam relished it. “I only had to repeat it multiple times a day for a decade. _Five thousandth time’s the charm_ , that’s what Pa always said.”

Blake sniffled, loudly. “No… no they’re not,” she said, continuing her own diatribe. She sighed, with a weariness she shouldn’t have known. “They’re just… stuck in old ways of thinking. Humans just need more exposure to us. To _real_ Faunus. To see that we aren’t some half-animal hybrids, or something.”

Now it was Adam’s turn to therapeutically bang his head against the wall. “You know, I talk, and I talk, and I just don't feel like you listen.”

Blake scowled, tucking her knees in close to her chest. The treacherous liquid was threatening to escape her eyes again. “I just wanted to celebrate this stupid holiday like everyone else.”

“It’s a _human_ holiday, Blake, what did you expect?” Adam asked, rhetorically. He glanced over, belatedly realizing that Blake’s head was still tucked beneath her arms. _Fuck_. “Come on, Blake. It’s okay. Nobody can say you didn’t try.”

“It’s not about _trying_ ,” she called back, her voice slightly muffled by virtue of her posture. Golden eyes peaked over her knees. “Is some stupid gross candy too much to ask for?”

“Hey.” Adam placed a hand on Blake’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “If it’s stupid gross candy you’re looking for...”

Blake managed to tear her gaze away from her boots long enough to see what Adam was pointing to. A small convenience store on the other side of a parking lot, already closed for the night. “Come on, I’ll bet you twenty lien there’s a window in the back I can get open.”

Blake followed him to the side of the building. She didn’t really think about following him, she just did. They had followed each other, everywhere, for as long as anyone cared to remember. “Yup, that one, right there,” continued Adam, talking more to himself than to Blake. “Wanna see this trick for popping the window out of the frame?”

She crossed her arms. “Stealing is _wrong_ , Adam. And it sends the wrong message about Faunus.”

“Out of the mouths of kitties,” he retorted, grinning as Blake’s scowl deepened. He rolled his eyes as her disapproval failed to dissipate. “Look at the sign, Blake.” He pointed to a piece of paper taped-up on the inside of the window.

ALL PATRONS MUST WEAR SHIRT AND SHOES

NO HATS

NO FUR, NO HOOVES, NO CLAWS

“Well… that’s wrong, too,” Blake appended. She shuffled nervously about in the empty parking lot. “What if someone comes by?”

Adam paused, mid-way through his spontaneous decision to break-and-enter. One hand fell to a hilt at his waist, to the scabbard of a prop short sword he’d patiently sharpened into a very real weapon. “One thing I love about this human holiday, Blake,” he said, fingers thrumming the hilt. “I can walk around with this all night and nobody bats an eye.”

* * *

Two wrongs, Blake was positive - with the ideological certainty that only adolescents and fanatics possess - did not make a right. But she silently admitted that candy stolen from racist shop owners - for reasons that defied logical explanations - tasted better.

“You know, maybe we should do this again next year,” mused Adam, mostly to himself, as they leaned against a tree in a darkened park. The wrappings of a dozen miniature candy bars lay scattered on the grass around him. Unlike Blake, he didn’t feel any compunctions about littering in a human park.

“Somehow I don’t really see you as the costume type,” Blake replied, leaning back contentedly and resting her hands on her belly.

“Maybe not,” Adam conceded. They sat in silence for several long seconds, watching from a distance as kids and parents trekked their way down the streets.

“I like the masks, though....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I dislike writing Adam and Blake together, this... could have happened? There's obviously a pretty deep bond in their past. And for the record, while I don't believe canon has spoken on the issue, Adam's use of the term "folks" is not meant to refer to a biological family per se.


	4. Ruby (Age 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang tries to win back her little sister. Takes place several months after the flashback sequence in "Burning the Candle".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the sentient captured in "[Strawberry Sunrise](http://keethy.deviantart.com/art/Strawberry-Sunrise-513063146)" by Keethy.
> 
> I spent _way_ too much time working on the backstory for Ruby's TV show...

Yang Xiao Long was used to getting into trouble. 

Most of the time it was for things even her pre-adolescent brain recognized were pretty dumb. Getting into fights with her classmates. Running away from school to explore the neighborhood. That incident with the motorcycle. Yang was reasonably certain that she was going to get in trouble for the mess she was making of Dad’s workshop - really a glorified tool shed crammed into a corner of their garage - but for once, she was _positive_ that it was going to be worth it.

Yang rattled the spray can for one last touch-up, trying to ignore the way her arms were suddenly a lot longer than she’d remembered them being. With one hand she pressed the respirator against her face, depressing the can’s nozzle with the other. She hadn’t been able to get the mask’s stupid straps to fit properly around her head, but then, it’d never really been clearly explained to her why it was such a big deal to begin with.

Black spray paint dripped from the sides of where she’d held it in place too long. Yang scowled at the sloppy stain, annoyed at herself for not being able to get the colors to match as they did in her head. It hadn’t _looked_ too hard when she’d started - it was just some kid’s cartoon with a few bright colors - but her handiwork continued to disappoint her. The colors were off, the lines wavered, and she hadn’t even _tried_ adding the rainbow-streaks to the sides...

Yang heard the sound of the front door unlocking, so she set the can down and popped the lid back on. Then she collapsed onto an oversized box that was doubling as a stool. Her head pounded with an unfamiliar ache, and the edges of her vision seemed… _spinny_. The door connecting the garage to the Xiao Long residence proper swung open with a loud _creak_ and Yang tilted her head back, staring upside-down at her father.

“Aw, crud, Yang, what did I tell you about… everything.” Taiyang walked into the garage one plodding step at a time, eyes assessing the damage with the jaded detachment of a father of two precocious kids. Cans of spray paint haphazardly littering the floor. Stains on the floor and walls. Enough fumes to-

“Yang, I told you that if you’re going to paint anything… Well _first_ I told you not to paint anything without me, but if you’re going to ignore that, then at least make sure the room is _well-ventilated_.” He pushed a small button on the wall, and the garage door began retracting into place above them. “ _Please_ remember to open the door.”

“Yeah, but… then you might have seen me and told me to stop?” Yang offered by way of reply. Tai sighed. The worst part was that there was some sliver of logic to his daughter’s reasoning.

“What are you trying to do here, anyways?” he asked, gently steering Yang towards the garage door as he did. It might’ve been cold out, but at least the air didn’t smell like… _vertigo_.

“I was… fixing the wagon,” Yang mumbled, keeping her eyes on the unfinished concrete beneath her. “Now it’s a war-chariot. To go with my Longma costume.”

“Fixing the… you mean?” Taiyang found himself at a loss for words. Then he sighed. “I thought you said you were too old for that pony show, anyways.”

“It’s not a pony, it’s a pony-dragon,” Yang corrected, irately. “And…” her voice softened a little, “it’s… for Halloween. For Ruby.”

In one of those weird ways that kids worked, Ruby had been _far_ more upset about losing her favorite wagon than she had been about nearly being torn to shreds by a pack of Grimm. Qrow and Tai had spent quite frankly an _inordinate_ amount of time trying to explain to Ruby why they weren’t going back for it. The worst part of it was that the wagon had been some crummy handmade thing Tai had hacked together one lazy afternoon. Which meant that he couldn’t just dart out to the store and find an identical replacement like he kept doing with the girls’ fish.

The second wagon he’d bought for Ruby had been made of plastic instead of wood, and Ruby had steadfastly avoided it. Qrow and Glynda had both shrugged off his questions about residual trauma - Ruby was just getting too old for those kind of things, they reckoned. But Taiyang was not so easily swayed. It wasn’t so much the wagon itself as what Yang and Ruby had done with it...

Fought over it, raced in it, used it as a tent and a fortress and a toboggan. Yang positively _loved_ pulling Ruby around in it, racing it down streets and hills. And Ruby, well, Yang could never go fast enough for her. Ruby had gone toppling out of it on more than one occasion, earning her share of scratches and bruises, but she always laughed them off. Tai figured he probably horrified the other parents by letting his girls accumulate scrapes and dirt, but…

...they were made of sturdy stuff, he knew. Which was why Ruby’s refusal to play with Yang was so troubling.

“So is this, uh, that cart…”

“War-chariot,” Yang corrected. Taiyang raised his hands in apology. He tried to watch TV with his daughters. He really did. But when had kids’ cartoons gotten so damn _painful_? At least when Qrow watched with his nieces he could take the occasional sip of his “prune juice”.

“Right. Sorry.” He rubbed his head. “So… how’s it going?”

“It sucks,” Yang declared, sullenly. “The tubes aren’t standing up so I can’t get the flags on it.” She glared at her creation. “Now it’s just a stupid red-and-yellow wagon.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not stupid,” Taiyang interjected, but to little effect. Unlike Ruby, brightening Yang’s mood took a _lot_ of heavy lifting. “Look, Yang, what you’re trying to do is _hard_. There are grown-ups who get paid a lot of lien to build these things.” She seemed to accept his explanation, nodding faintly, but her expression was still glum. “How about you get your costume and I’ll try to finish this up, okay champ?”

* * *

“♫ _Super Saiyan Pony Adventures!_ ♫ _Super Saiyan Pony Adventures!_ ♫ _”_

Ruby pranced about the house, singing like no one was listening. The latest episode of _S.S.P.A._ had just finished, which meant that Halloween would begin in just a matter of minutes. Ruby was already in her costume - Cyflymder the Quick, _fastest of all the Riders!_ \- and currently doing her best to transport herself to the magical universe where warrior-princesses saved the world astride battle-ponies. By imagination alone.

Unlike a certain white-haired woman she wouldn’t meet for almost a decade, Ruby Rose had _not_ gotten a pony for her birthday. Her father had taken his daughter’s tears in stride, convinced that a child of her age couldn’t _possibly_ hold a grudge for very long. Or at the very least, _surely_ her infatuation with magical battle ponies would peter out in a couple of months...

“♫ _Super Saiyan Pony Adventures!_ ♫ _Super Saiyan Pony Adventures!_ ♫ _”_

Taiyang considered _that_ to be entirely Qrow’s fault. If his former partner hadn’t filled Ruby with false hope of getting a pony then the months of sullen resentment (punctuated by the occasional sobs) could have been entirely avoided. But then, it was easy for Qrow to make empty promises when he didn’t have to stick around for the tear-streaked conclusion.

Taiyang had idly noted that that seemed to be a Branwen family trait.

Ruby raced around the corner, running so fast her eyes were almost shut, still high off the energy of the show’s lyrics. Unfortunately for young Ruby, however, her socked feet couldn’t quite find traction on the smooth tiles of the kitchen floor, and the heartless tyranny of friction sent her crashing down to the linoleum underfoot.

“ _Ow_ ,” Ruby mumbled to herself, momentarily dazed by her sudden transition from vertical to horizontal. She lay there for several seconds, considering that this could have been avoided if she’d had a magical battle pony with a war chariot to ride on like she’d _asked_ for (both her birthday _and_ Dustmas!). Then she blinked.

Standing in the kitchen was Longma, _easily_ one of those most powerful of the Battle Ponies. Well, _technically_ she was half-dragon, so Ruby wasn’t quite sure whether it was fair to lump her in with the others ponies, but that wasn’t important. What _was_ important was that Longma was standing here, in her kitchen, with her war chariot _Huochao_ behind her.

‘Longma’ smiled, and Ruby blinked again. “Yang?”

The pony-dragon shook its head. “Nope!” the creature before her declared, popping its ‘p’ in a suspiciously-familiar manner. “Come on, I’ve got your chariot ready to go,” the girl opposite Ruby stated, tugging the handle of the wagon behind her. “You can trick-or-treat at three times the speed in this thing!”

Ruby stared at the tresses of golden hair spilling out from beneath the edges of a rubber mask. “But I’m Cyflymder, I can’t use your chariot…” Ruby said, half-mumbling under her breath. “Remember the episode with the wolfs? It’s too dangerous for Cyflymder to ride in _Huochao_ …” She kept her eyes downcast.

‘Longma’ crouched down in front of Ruby, lilac eyes peering through the holes in the mask. “Maybe… maybe Longma wants to say sorry for that,” she replied, the whisper of her voice barely audible through the mask. “And promise you that she can keep you safe this time. And not break the wagon.”

It was a long, _long_ wait before anyone said anything. The gears clicked in the unconscious of Ruby’s mind. Perspiration accumulated under Yang’s rubber mask. Taiyang tried _very_ hard not to shift his weight so as to creak the floorboards in the adjacent room...

And then Ruby looked up, her smile wide, silver eyes staring back at Yang with a love that could transcend any trauma. And even with the mask on Ruby could tell that Yang was smiling back. “Well… if Longma is _insisting_ ,” she said, her voice playfully teasing. Then she gave her sister a hug. “Let’s go!”

They were halfway out the door before Taiyang caught up to them, three coats in his arms...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's really hard to figure out? How old Ruby and Yang are during that flashback where they almost get eaten by Grimm. Ruby is young enough to nap through most of it(?) while Yang is old enough to trek all that way. And they're only two years apart. Bloody heck.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, for better or for worse. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Criticism, opinions, headcanons, just toss 'em my way. And once again, if you like it, consider heading over to r/rwby in a couple of days and tossing a vote my way? Please?
> 
> Comments make my day!


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